This is Your Afterlife (19 page)

Mara's gaze is piercing, probing. “Like you did with the Ouija board?”

“In a way.”

Her words fire out like bullets. “How? How do you learn something like that? Have you
seen
a ghost?”

“Keep it down.” Nobody seems to be paying attention to us now, but I press a finger to my lips anyway. “I have seen a ghost.”

One side of her lips angles downward. “It wasn't a trick of light?”

“Positive. And no. It wasn't my imagination gone wild. I talked to this ghost…and it talked back to me.” I stop short of mentioning Jimmy's name.

Seems like forever and a month passes before she says anything. “Are you using?”

“Drugs? Me?! Not even prescription meds,” I squeak. Though Mara gives me a look that says maybe I should be on anti-hallucinogenics.

She shakes her head like a Labrador shaking water from its ears. “Let me get this straight. Using your ‘investigation technique,' you can find out how Jimmy died? By talking to
ghosts
?”

“I realize it sounds nutty, but yeah. Potentially. Seems dying doesn't improve a person's IQ. They don't know everything. They don't become this all-seeing entity. No, this is just a tool. A very blunt, unreliable tool. Look, I probably shouldn't have mentioned it.”

Mara reaches over and grabs my arm. She's very touchy-feely these days. “But it's possible to sharpen this tool?”

“With practice, maybe. It's not an exact science.” Uncomfortable, I squirrel out of a grip so tight it left white, finger-shaped splotches where circulation had been cut off. “You know, ignore me. I'm a rookie. I shouldn't have mentioned anything. If you're suspicious of Aimee, how about good old-fashioned surveillance?”

“I'm more interested in hearing about how you're using this technique.”

Her gaze is intense enough to roast me alive. It makes me want to run into Theo's big walk-in freezer to get some relief.

Fanning my face, I slide across the booth seat. “Keep going with your dessert. I just need a minute.”

“Where are you going?”

“I'll be back.” My feet thud heavily at first, and I'm almost afraid of stomping through the floorboards. But by the time I reach the restroom door, I already feel lighter, physically and mentally. I glance back at Mara, who's scrolling through her smartphone with a frown. For a split second, a shadow passes over her. I blink and the shadow's gone.

“I've got to get my eyes checked,” I mutter, pushing into the restroom. The door bumps into something on the other side. A female voice squeals.

“Sorry!” I quickly close the door and come face to face with Aimee. She dabs at her puffy, bloodshot eyes with paper towels.

“Keira.” With excessive force, she turns on the water and splashes her face. And me. When she comes up for air, she stares despairingly at her reflection. Her skin is so pale it's translucent, making the purple smudges beneath her eyes more prominent. “Don't look at me.”

Her gaze meets mine in the mirror, then she rummages in her purse with shaky hands. “I need more make-up. Jimmy always used to say I didn't need to wear any, but...we all know what a little mascara can do, right?”

The thought of sticking those little brushes covered in black goo into my eyeballs terrifies me. Lip balm is as far as I go with face paint. I don't know how I'd ever get to school in time if I had to deal with applying make-up in addition to getting out of bed.

She winds up a lipstick in glossy fuchsia and smears it on generously. “Do you think he'd like this color?”

“You mean, Jimmy?” I ask tentatively.

“Who else?”

“I...really wouldn't know.” I peer at her features, brittle with grief and exhaustion...and maybe a hint of mania.

“Huh. I guess you wouldn't. You and Jimmy weren't exactly friends,” Aimee says without an ounce of tact. She spritzes a rosy perfume onto her throat.

“I wish.” I shift from foot to foot. I half-expect her to make a snide comment, but instead she studies the countertop.

Finally, she whispers, “How is it possible? How could my Jimmy be...gone?”

Gently, I press a hand to her shoulder. “It's hard to believe when someone that strong and that loved is taken away.”

Her blonde ponytail bobs as she shakes her head. “Breaking up was hard enough, you know? But at least I knew I could see him every day. Even touch him. Now...” Her eyes well up. “I have nothing. Nothing to live for.”

“Are you...thinking of...?”

“Killing myself? I might be low, but I couldn't do that,” she says, then takes a deep breath like she's preparing to dive underwater. “Some kids say he jumped.”

“You're one of the people who knew him best. What do
you
say?”

She clings to the countertop. “He had to have slipped or something.”

“What do you think he was doing up there by himself?”

Aimee's brow furrows. “That's what I've been wondering myself. He loved having his friends around him all the time. You know, to hang out, have a few laughs.”

I hesitate for a few seconds.

Mara is so sure Aimee had a sinister role in Jimmy's demise. Me, I'm having a hard time reconciling this fragile and often fluffy cheerleader as a murderer. She was upset about being dumped, but mad enough to kill? My gut tells me no. This girl's
devastated.

“I think...I think Jimmy was murdered. And I'm kind of looking into his death. For Dan's sake.”

She looks at me uncomprehendingly.

“Do you know anyone who might have been on the outs with Jimmy? Can you think of any arguments with teammates? Someone from another school who might have a grudge against him?”

“Everyone loved him,” she says in a firm voice. “Even if they were jealous of his star status on the team, the guys still worshipped Jimmy.”

“Who? Who was jealous?”

“They didn't actually
say
they were jealous. You could tell just by the way they looked at him run onto the field that they just wanted to
be
Jimmy.”

“So his teammates? Todd? Sam?” They were the only names I could think of. For many people, including me, Jimmy Hawkins might as well have been a one-man team. He carried everyone. Overshadowed them. I imagine that would make some people stew over the attention he got.

Her trembling hand touches her lip as she stares at her own reflection. “They were his friends.”

“Or frenemies.”

“I can't believe they'd want to hurt him. Sam ribbed Jimmy about getting slow in his old age, but it was harmless stuff.”

Sam. One of the drunken guys at the wake.

“Could be worth checking him out,” I muse. “Everyone's under the microscope.”

“Including me?” she says with a tinge of bitterness. I prepare myself for another flood of tears, but she holds them back.

I meet her gaze steadily. Though I've unscientifically eliminated Aimee, I also have to account for the fact I believed for years that she was shallow and gossipy. I didn't trust her, and I guess that's because I didn't know the real Aimee Barton. Maybe Mara's right. The best way to find out is to unnerve her.

“Where were you the night Jimmy died?” My stark question has the effect I was looking for—she's rattled. Her tear-splattered face grows furious.

“You think
I
killed him?! That's crazy! I loved him. I wanted us to be together. Go to prom! Go to the movies and parties. I didn't want to spend my senior year crying over him!”

I hear the anguish in her voice and try desperately hard not to dissolve into a blubbering mess. “I'm sorry, Aimee. Really. I had to ask.”

“Jimmy was my whole world. Cheerleading, school, none of it mattered when he was around.” Her eyelids squeeze shut as she struggles to regain composure. “But he didn't love me like I loved him.”

Softening, I say, “I'm sure he loved you.”

“Keira, it's nice of you to try to make me feel better, but...I know the truth.” Aimee's skin tone brightens as her tears dry. “Look at me. I'm in a restaurant bathroom waiting for my dead ex-boyfriend to show up. Have you ever seen anything so pathetic? Don't answer that.”

I give her a supportive smile.

“I should head back to the house.” Aimee adjusts her clothing. Light-footed, she moves to the door. At the last second, she turns to me. “Jimmy was right to break up with me.”

“Aimee, don't torture yourself—”

“No, I see that now. We were on totally different paths.” She smiles despite herself. Either she's always kept this insightful part of her hidden under her vacuous cheerleader guise or losing Jimmy has made her a better person. My admiration for her goes up a notch. Who knew? “But if you find out who the killer is, come get me before you go to the cops so I can kick his butt.”

“Will do.” I salute her. “Are you going to be okay? Have you got someone to talk to? Friends?”

“My friends.” She gives a rueful scoff. “They've been MIA since Jimmy's body was found. Guess they don't know what to say to me.”

Squeezing her arm, I say what I never in a millennium thought I'd say, “I'll be here whenever you need me. Not ‘here' as in this particular restroom, of course. But...you know what I mean.”

Her eyes widen with shock, and then they fill with gratitude. “That's real nice of you.”

“Oh, one more thing. Use the side exit. Don't go out the front door.”

“Why not?”

A vision of Mara's dark, disapproving expression pops into my head. Jimmy is
my
ghost and I'll handle the “investigation” just the way I want to.

“There's a ton of people in the dining room. I'm sure they'll be all over you, asking questions about Jimmy.”

Aimee shudders. “I'm not ready for that kind of attention.”

“Figured as much.” I smile sadly as Aimee sweeps out. Her hysterical grief over the past week wasn't just for show. It was genuine. I would have to be made of marble to not feel that now. Mara's just going to have to deal with the fact her chief suspect isn't the stereotypical black widow.

When I return to the dining area, I find a family of five sitting at my table. Mara's nowhere in sight.

“Your friend had to go,” says a gum-snapping waitress with curly brown hair as she walks by. She tucks an order pad into her pristine uniform pocket.

I blink. How much time did I spend in the restroom?

“Where?”

“I don't know, but she ran out of here like she had someplace special to go,” says the waitress. I reach for my purse, mentally counting the pennies in my wallet. “She took care of the check, honey.”

What was so important that Mara had to leave without saying goodbye? Could she have stumbled on a lead and wanted to take the credit for it?

For me, finding Jimmy's killer isn't about glory. It's much bigger than that.

I drop a few dollars in the tip jar and make my way home. As far as I'm concerned, Mara's welcome to do her own investigating. Her gut feeling about Aimee just doesn't align with mine.

Another school day passes without an appearance from either Dan or Jimmy. In the privacy of my thin-walled bedroom, I lay out the Mandala spread and picture Aimee's face. I'm not being creepy. It's just that I suddenly find her intriguing. Enough to want to do an unauthorized reading on her personality.

From the center of the spread, I turn over the first card in the position that's supposed to give me an overall view of Aimee. Pictured in a glimmering diaphanous gown is the High Priestess, her body floating toward the heavens. She's telling me there are secrets to unravel within Aimee, that there's more beneath the surface, a lot of good things she hides from others.

I turn the remaining eight cards, learning more and more about her. Her weaknesses include abandonment issues, which fits in with her fears over breaking up with Jimmy. But is she a killer? The Universe doesn't return a clear-cut guilty verdict, but it does confirm Aimee's not nearly as shallow or unfeeling as I once believed her to be.

A tiny movement catches my eye. My heart leaps at the thought of Jimmy returning. Instead of getting a laid-back greeting from my long-lost ghost pal, I get an intense whiff of lavender.

“Grandie?” I clutch the cards in sweaty palms, forgetting momentarily that the oils from my hands are doing no favors for the delicate gold patina. A silvery gray mist gathers in a corner of my room, right by a window. I can't help but notice the mist is the same color as Grandie's tightly curled hair.

The mist rolls toward me, enveloping me from head to toe. I feel no fear, no chill. Only love. My voice cracks. “I've missed you, Grandie. Talk to me!”

But as soon as the plea comes out of my mouth, the mist disappears. No words of wisdom or even a hello from my grandmother.

“Dammit!” Why won't she show herself?

My gaze falls on the notepad Dan sketched on a few nights ago. He'd taken the portrait of me with him, but the imprint of his drawing remains on the blank pages. All I can think about is how he stood in this very room with his arms tight around me. Kissing me senseless.

I pick up my phone and stare at his number in the contacts list. Dan needs friends right now. He needs me.

Just as I flick my thumb towards his number, the phone vibrates. I gasp at the display before answering eagerly.

“Dan?” I stammer. “I...I was just thinking about you. How are you holding up?”

“A lot better than my mom. On the outside.” His voice comes down the line with an unmistakable husk. He clears the huskiness—and the sexiness—from his throat. “Any sign of Jimmy?”

“No. Not even a blip on my ghost radar app.” I sigh, wishing I could just call or even text Jimmy like a normal, living person whenever I want to contact him.